


i want to know what time it shuts

by sushihighroller



Category: Malcolm in the Middle
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mind Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-02-24 09:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushihighroller/pseuds/sushihighroller
Summary: Malcolm is too old for his power to manifest, but Herkabe can read minds.





	1. Have you no idea that you're in deep?

**Author's Note:**

> Superpowers!au? I've been working on this for a little while. It gets weird at the end? There are a few unexplored ideas that I'd like to pursue further at some point. Hope you guys enjoy this one. Let me know what you think.

It's not that uncommon in the world that most people have these abilities. His mother is a rare type of person in that she has premonitions of terrible things happening to their family, often in her dreams, before they actually happen. His father seems to have the ability of a weasel; sliding out of every tense and precarious position he's put in. When combined, their parents have incredible abilities to give them many advantages in life, despite their most prevailing and obvious disadvantage. They seem to still keep themselves afloat, even when they should have drowned years ago.

Francis seems to have inherited the gift of destruction, similar to their grandmother, where everything he touches turns into misfortune for everyone else. Reese has a unique ability to cook, and when the family discovers it, they task him with the duty of preparing most of their family meals. Rather than resent it, Reese seems to be proud his gift can help them so much. He likes that they're being indebted to him. It seems to fuel his resentment.

Even Dewey has an ability before Malcolm has demonstrated one, his aptitude and understanding of music influencing the moods of people around him. All in all, Malcolm tends to consider their family dangerous. He can see ways in which their talents could be put together to subdue entire industries. He knows they won't believe them when he tries to tell them. They cite evidence of their lack of success in every avenue of life every time he tries, so he's resolved to not speak about it at all.

Overall, he gets along with them well; his lack of talent doesn't seem to diminish their love for him, something he suspects is made up for by his incredible intelligence. Still, they don't abuse or torment him, and in that, Malcolm is happy. His mother still tries to read to him at night, attempts to call out his own unique abilities. Nothing takes for as long as she tries, and both his parents secretly hope that this year at school will be different; will give rise to Malcolm's own abilities.

Malcolm finds he doesn't care either way; he doesn't even know what he wants to do with his life yet; feels that having an ability would only complicate such things, and limit his potential. He's content in his lack of ability, and steels himself for the year of school ahead.

 

Malcolm wakes to an odd feeling at the start of the new school year. He can sense his brother's dreams as they relive their unconsciousness' own torment upon their psyches. He can sense their insecurities as they wipe sleep from their eyes and jostle for the bathroom. Malcolm is too distracted by their feelings to even fight for hot water, and showers under a cold stream.

He starts to interpret dreams that are not his own before he realizes that everything that comes out of Reese's mouth is something he's heard before. His voice echos like it's underwater, far away and distant, calling upon him to interpret and presuppose what Reese is thinking, feeling, before Reese can even put emotions to name.

Their mother gives them a brief, perfunctory kiss before handing them their lunches and ushering them out the door, Malcolm trying to hold on to what this all means. He follows behind his brothers to their bus stop, lost in thoughts and feelings that are not his own. He can feel that they come distinctly from outside himself, he guesses, but cannot assume why. He's determined to test these thoughts before he draws the conclusions that are already forming within him.

He gets to Herkabe's classroom slightly later than usual. Herkabe is already in the classroom, and he feels dread overwhelm him, as it normally does around Herkabe, as he tries to sneak to his preordained seat. He sees Herkabe's eyes flash in his direction, but his teacher doesn't comment on his tardiness, so he pulls out his textbooks and begins to catch up.

Time in the classroom proceeds as it normally has, and Malcolm relaxes a little, starts to believe that what he experienced this morning was a fluke. Some kind of extension from the dreams he's been having lately. Herkabe seems to be particularly adamant about them understanding a certain equation, and he inadvertently makes the mistake everyone did the first day, and looks Herkabe directly in the eyes.

His dream, drawn up fresh from Herkabe's mind-reading ability, flashes secondarily before his eyes, like he's daydreaming, until his memories catch up to this very moment in the classroom. Herkabe, as he usually does, doesn't react at all, but gives him an exasperated look that seems to suggest he should attempt to pay attention to his lesson, rather than his own daydream. Like what's he's been experiencing has no bearing on his daily effort and performance. What really throws him for a loop is his interpretation of what Herkabe seems to be feeling. Herkabe's own lack of success and frustration at his current station takes Malcolm off-guard, and he tries for the safe approach of looking back down at his work, pretending to erase something he knows he didn't get wrong.

Herkabe's attention seems to slide from him, and he breathes easier. He has a feeling his abilities have something to do with empathy. Dodging the stimulus from the rest of his class seems like an impossible endeavor from this point forward, but he does his best to endure, mostly because he doesn't want to call his mother in, and unleash what is certain to be relief and embarrassment in equal measure.

 

His feelings are only confirmed when he goes home that night, and can't stand to be around anyone. His parents' minds are too busy, Reese's mind is too vapid, and all Dewey seems concerned with is his music, which Malcolm can't understand anyway. He retires to their room early, citing a headache and barricades himself behind his brothers' door. He can feel his family's individual talents from where he sits on Dewey's and his bed, his father attempting to carefully explain something he knows would only get his mother enraged.

The sensation of their emotions in his head is overwhelming, and he goes to the bathroom to find some Nyquil or something to knock himself out. He downs the drugs quickly, slinking back to the bedroom. He's asleep within twenty minutes, and doesn't dream a thing. Waking up seems to be a difficult experience, and he pulls himself out of sleep with no small effort.

His mother warns them not to miss the bus today, as something terrible will surely happen to them if they do, and Malcolm takes his lunch from the counter and thanks her in a small voice. She waves them out the door hurriedly before hopping into her car and waving to their father. She zooms by them before they get to the end of the driveway.

Reese tries to tell him about this idea he's got for some new dish that Malcolm can't bring himself to care about, and Dewey's singing the same opera he's been trying to compose for the last month. Malcolm doesn't want to be around either of them, and tries to close himself off from dialogue with his brothers until the bus comes. They stand in near silence as they wait for the bus, only Dewey's persistent humming and Reese's gasps of insight punctuating the silence he's trying to cultivate.

All bets are off as he finds a seat on his bus, everyone else's feelings and compulsions swirl around in his head. He gets halfway down the aisle before the sensation of feeling everyone else's anxieties dizzies him to the point where he has to choose to either sit or vomit. He rushes to the first open seat he can find, eyes crossed to the point where he can't tell who the blur beside him is supposed to be. He swallows repetitively, calmly, willing the nausea to recede. The bus' doors fold shut, the bus starts lurching forward, and it doesn't seem to matter to his nausea.

Malcolm barely gets to the school without incident; his hypersensitivity to the way his classmate's feel overwhelms his senses, and he struggles to keep his breakfast down as the bus shudders to an abrupt halt, air brakes signaling their exit from the bus. He lags behind even the slowest student, and follows him out into the impossible sunshine of his home state. The light immediately makes Malcolm impulsed to wretch, but a firm hand grabs his shoulder as he tries to dry heave, and tosses him unceremoniously into the building.

He pants, nauseous and disoriented, forehead pressed against the floor as he regains his bearings against the abrupt movement. Everyone else seems to rush into class, unconcerned. They seem to trust a teacher to help him through the manifestation of his abilities, due to the fact that Malcolm thinks it's only Herkabe he senses above him.

“Are you feeling okay, Malcolm?” Herkabe mutters over him.

He twist uncomfortably on the floor, too woozy to stand, Herkabe's feeling flooding into him exclusively. He can easily sense the poorly disguised lust and loathing emanating from the man. The other emotions flooding him seem to ground him and nauseate him at the same time. He tries valiantly to stand before staggering to his knees. Herkabe himself looks rather pale as he looks up at him from his stance on the floor.

Herkabe's eye contact only makes his nausea worse as he floods into Malcolm's mind, throwing the last sixteen hours of his life into a quick and breathless hurricane. In what he knows is an uncharacteristic move for Herkabe, the man drops to his own knees and steadies Malcolm against his collarbone.

He closes his eyes against Herkabe's throat, praying for the world to stabilize, as his abilities sharpen to focus on the only person in front of him. Uncharacteristically, Herkabe makes soothing noises and pets Malcolm's hair, willing him into relaxation. These actions serve to fuel Malcolm's anxiety and soothe his nausea paradoxically. Malcolm's arm comes up to grip at Herkabe's shoulder, angling him closer for some baseline to ground his mind against. Malcolm feels what Herkabe is trying to convey before it comes out of his mouth.

“I'm going to take you to the nurse. I'll call your mother to take you home. Can you stand?”

He knows Herkabe is trying to project an air of confidence, nearly as much as he knows Herkabe is doing a terrible job of actually doing it. The hand in his hair seems to soothe the nausea, so he lets Herkabe pull them up and attempt to walk them to the nurse's office. He tries to focus on Herkabe's own desperation for this to turn out alright, and focuses less on his own nausea. He shuts his eyes and lets Herkabe walk him through the shortest route to the nurse's office.

They get there just before Herkabe walks to her desk and Malcolm slips to the floor to vomit on his shoes. He thinks he manages to conceal his annoyance as Malcolm shifts to look at him apologetically. Malcolm is still very pale, and tries to rise unsteadily before Herkabe catches his elbow and guides him to a nearby chair. The nurse looks dourly at the Herkabe and the vomit, but agrees to see Malcolm, as is her duty anyway. Herkabe returns to Malcolm's side as soon as the nurse leads him to a secluded room, his hand going to the crook of Malcolm's elbow instinctively. Malcolm tries not to focus on his myriad emotions as Herkabe turns to inspect his face.

“Aren't you going to call my mom?” Malcolm chokes out gradually.

“I'd rather the nurse check you out first, if it's all the same to you. She can't do any more than I can were I to call your mother here right now.” It seems like the right call to make, and he recognizes that even as he tries to justify that to Malcolm. He doesn't mean to invalidate Malcolm's sense of security; it's been so long since he's had an experience with an empath, that he can't quite remember how he needs to interact with Malcolm.

Malcolm, for his own sanity, can't quite deal with Herkabe's mind reading, and nods along readily to Herkabe's assessment of the situation.

“Whatever you think is best, sir.” His head falls down on his desk, presumably from the thoughts and emotions emanating from Herkabe pacing nervously around him. His nausea bubbles up against his chest, and his hands search out cool, stable parts of the desk.

It doesn't seem to end, and Malcolm grapples with the cool desk as Herkabe paces the room back and forth. He seems more worked up than Malcolm can conceivably sooth, but he tries nonetheless.

“Mr. Herkabe...it's going to be okay.” He hiccups unintentionally, and Herkabe spares him a worried glance for a second.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” That hand by his elbow is back again. Guiding him gently and forcefully again. Malcolm gets a cruel and self-serving idea, and doesn't bother censoring it from Herkabe; after all, he's been seeing what Herkabe's been feeling, and Herkabe can read minds as well as he can. He assuages any guilt he feels by trying to justify that this is what Herkabe has been wanting for months. He kneads Herkabe's mind carefully, couching it to him in a way he won't immediately reject.

In this vision, Herkabe is gently pushing him over the desk, pulling off his pants and pressing into his body. He punctuates the vision by adding moans, and red-faced breathlessness on both of them.

“Mr. Herkabe...please...”

He's just too easy, and Herkabe paces the room twice more before he capitulates, bending Malcolm over the desk and carefully peeling his pants off in two separate motions. He can feel Herkabe's unreasonable desire for him, and as much as it scares him, he plays it up to meet his ends in this moment. Nausea is all but gone, and he finds himself steady against the stream of Herkabe's anxiety, despite what he's goading Herkabe into doing.

Mr. Herkabe tests his mind gently, pulling here and there before Malcolm puts emotions into his head that he can't resist. He makes sure to flash emotions of arousal and the promise of satiety to Herkabe before he pulls himself up into a receptive position for potential activities. He bares his ass to the windows behind the nurse's desk, pulling himself up enough to brush his knuckles against his desk when he takes himself in hand.

He projects into Herkabe's head the idea of subjugating and dominating the trouble student, the triumph at feeling that it's finally possible, and doesn't hesitate when Herkabe paces behind him and pulls down his trousers, languishing in the heavy-hearted sigh.

He sighs long-sufferingly, and kneels behind Malcolm. Herkabe's hands trace the lines of his thighs and he gives out a soft sigh.

“Oh...that feels so good.” Encouragement can never hurt when sex is involved. Herkabe moves to cup his testicles, massaging them gently, and the phony sex noises he's been producing are replaced with genuine sounds of pleasure.

His ego takes a blow to admit it, but he moans softly for Herkabe, raising his hips in what he hopes is an enticing way, and growls frustratedly, as Herkabe's attentions are nowhere near getting him to where he wants to go.

He can practically hear Herkabe's smug smirk as he begs for sensation. Herkabe is inside him, crooking his fingers as he traces the pucker of Malcolm's asshole with his tongue. Against his will, sparks alight on Malcolm's skin, his body contracting without his consent.

“Please...Mr. Herkabe...” He begs as Herkabe gives him a little more, barely enough to feel sated.

He feels Herkabe play with his ass as the hardness against his stomach hardens impossibly more. He's on his elbows panting, and he doesn't know how he can take much beyond this. He hears the unzipping of pants, and braces himself for Herkabe. It is what he's wanted, at least since collapsing on the school floor. It's the only thing that seems to promise a cure to this crazy insanity and nausea inside him.

The blunt heaviness of Herkabe's cock lines up with his hole, and before he can say anything, Herkabe is desperately shoving himself inside him, lube or lack of notwithstanding.

He can't help the pleasure-pain of the moans that spill out of his mouth. Herkabe is so hard inside him, and for a moment, Malcolm believes that he could desire Herkabe as much as Herkabe obviously desires him. He arches his back down and raises his ass, clearly trying to goad Herkabe into giving him more. Herkabe is as predictable as he always is, and gives in to Malcolm's show of submission. He pounds into him harder, gripping the back of his head, forcing him up to truly feel Herkabe inside him.

“You will...obey...me...” It's not an unexpected utterance, but Malcolm takes it in stride anyway.

“I will, sir. Please, give me more.” Herkabe shudders at this and slams into him relentlessly.

He can sense the swirl of emotion his utterance gives Herkabe. The fact that Herkabe seems to feel he owns him exclusively, Herkabe's own sense of insecurity coming to light. Herkabe's own telepathy glancing off of his own empathy seems to form a carnival mirror of sorts, distorting one another's intentions, as Malcolm catches a part of Herkabe's psyche, deeply passionate and deeply in love, and Malcolm's own puzzlement about this entire relationship blossoms into something truly uncontrollable. 

“Oh, sir...” He raises his hips up irresistibly.

“I really need you to...oh...” His utterance is cut short by Herkabe's vicious thrust into his ass, brushing up against the one spot Malcolm didn't think could possibly feel that way.

“Oh, oh, sir...” The end of his statement is breathless, controlled only by Herkabe's hips brushing up against his own as he thrusts into them. Herkabe himself moans rather pitily, clearly taken in and absorbed by Malcolm's willingness to bend over for him.

He encourages this from Herkabe, if only to get the one thing he's been missing from every other person for as long as he's woken up to realize it exists.

“Sir, you feel so good inside me...” He knows exactly which buttons to push, and Herkabe groans senseless and dazedly behind him, just on the cusp of falling over the edge. He wonders if he should utter the words he knows Herkabe dreams in his sleep, wonders if it's worth it for this man.

He starts, his mouth opened wide, “Lionel, I-”

And Herkabe comes abruptly into him from behind, anticipating his words, no need from him to complete the thought. He can feel Herkabe empty into him, a thick, hot warmth he almost immediately tries to reject. He wriggles free from Herkabe, much preferring to be on the side that goads him into impossible schemes, rather than the side that validates them.

He narrows his eyes at Herkabe suspiciously, trying not to flinch when Herkabe's seed runs down his legs after a few minutes. The man himself is preoccupied with pulling his pants around his hips, fastening them with his belt. It takes several moment for him to lose interest in steadying his pants against his hips, when he looks at Malcolm again, a nearly shocked and open expression on his face.

“Malcolm! I'm so sorry!” Malcolm can tell he's only pandering to a conventional sense of morality, saying what's expected when a teacher violates a student. He allows him to run to the nurse's desk phone, and Herkabe calls his mother. Even through the thick door, Malcolm can hear the distress in his mother's voice, and closes his eyes, trying to block out what she feels.

The world spins around him again, dizzying in its implications, before the door opens again, and he feels Herkabe inch cautiously through.

“I called your mother to pick you up.” He stares at Malcolm, clearly concerned, as he braces himself against the doorway. He really has no recollection of how empaths function anymore.

“She said she'll be here in twenty minutes.” Malcolm feels Herkabe's hope, his desire. Herkabe lurches over to him predictably, utterly taken in by Malcolm's carefully expressionless face.

“Don't worry. I'll take care of you.” Malcolm wonders idly at how deeply Herkabe's affection for him goes, as he grabs and twists Herkabe's emotions, forcing Herkabe to kneel, supplicating, before him.


	2. i don't know if you feel the same as i do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation, finally! It's a little rough around the edges, but the jist of what I want to convey is still there. Regardless, I hope you like it.

He gets back to school two weeks later, his ability in control enough to prevent undue effects on him classmates, or his teachers.  
He would have gotten such a reaming from his parents for not going home sick as soon as he realized his powers had manifested, had he not been able to anticipate and head their feelings off. He had reassured his mother that he was fine, it was just a bit difficult to get used to. His father, with his innate ability to weasel out of nearly everything, was hardly affected by Malcolm’s instinct to get inside of his head.  
After much screaming from his mother, and his own tears, they forgave him, and he finds his way back to school the next next Monday morning. As he boards the bus, he finds he’s still not sure what to do about Herkabe, the man being clearly infatuated and equally frustrated with him.

More than that, he finds it oddly difficult to manipulate him to the extent he would have, had he not manipulated Herkabe into having sex with him. He finds he’s a bit more forgiving of Herkabe’s behavior now. He understands he’s been going through a rough time, and feels his own guilt about manipulating someone so selfishly. He shuffles into class like the last two weeks never happened, Stevie cracking jokes beside him. For all intents and purposes, two weeks ago never did. In a perhaps a predictable turn of events, he finds Herkabe refuses to look him in the eyes. His shame washes over him, and he bends over his sheaf of papers, determined not to make trouble.

The lesson ends without incident, and the class moves on to a free period of sorts, reading ancient Greek and Roman scholars, the Atlantic and whatnot. Malcolm is too distracted to focus on any sort of reading, and as he looks around the room, feels tempted to access his classmates’ minds, see how they’re feeling. They’re all studiously doing some kind of reading, and Malcolm sees more magazines than anything else. His eyes roam around the the room before locking abruptly with Herkabe’s. Herkabe is staring right at him, and Malcolm tries to ignore what his talent tells him this means.

It’s not easy at all to brush it out of his mind, and Herkabe’s mind reading is much faster at putting suggestions in to his mind before he can control how he feels about anything. Like a daydream, he sees himself laid out in the nurse’s room, hot and begging for Herkabe’s cock. His stoic, mildly frayed tone calls to him.

“Please...Mr. Herkabe...” He can remember how it felt when Herkabe pushed into his body, all desperate and longing.  
He breaks eye contact before it can escalate, and focuses his gaze on the book on his desk. This thing between them, it’s not sustainable, and Malcolm has no idea how to convey that.

 

It’s years and years later when Herkabe approaches him again. His old teacher is trying to get him to join the Booster club, to bring mylar balloons to disadvantaged children everywhere. He shuts his instincts to get into Herkabe’s emotions off harder, when he realizes it’s him. He’s already violated this man enough, even as long ago as it was.

He only agrees to help the Booster club out of guilt, and winces when Herkabe is happy to get essential repairs to his car. He’s not sure how much he can do for them, but assuaging his own guilt is what drives him in the first place. That said, their first meeting is insane, ineffective and idiotic. He’s confident, with his inherent empathy, that he can get more support from the community with his ideas that they can. It’s only when he ends up with egg on his face a few weeks later that he realizes that it’s not that simple. He still has not figured out how to treat other people seriously, and it shows in the meeting. Herkabe taunts him afterward in his odd, aggressive way, and Malcolm is determined to try harder.

 

Before long, Herkabe’s desire for him begins to block out anything he can pick up from other people. It invades his mind when he least expects it. Desire for himself seems to control most of his days, and only when a classmate reveals Herkabe’s classroom is adjacent to his own do the feelings put into his mind make sense. Herkabe is in love with him. It’s the only reasonable answer, and one he has known for so long that it’s the only one that makes sense. What he can’t figure out is how to deal with it. He feels he can love Herkabe, but only when the man’s emotions invade his own. Otherwise, he feels a detached disgust.

And morally, he can’t decide whether to use those feelings for the Boosters or not. Ultimately however, he can see that they’re far more responsible and reasonable than he is, so he decides to help them out. He helps them organize their auction benefit. His parents drive him to it, and they insist they stay to participate in the activities. It’s not long after he arrives that he can feel Herkabe’s undisguised lust for him, and braces himself against a nearby wall to accommodate it.

“Hello Malc.” Herkabe’s voice is light and carefree, unaffected by the strife Malcolm knows has been in his life lately. It throws Malcolm for a loop.

“Malc?” He repeats tonelessly.

“Ah, forgive me. I'm feeling very odd tonight. What is it called, when you look around, and you are not filled with festering rage?”

“Being moderately happy?” Malcolm responds carefully.

“That is it! I am moderately happy! I have brake pads, and enough left over for a side mirror, and now I find that there is a wine tasting booth with an incredibly underpriced Riesling, just twenty-five cents a glass.” Herkabe seems to hesitate. Malcolm knows it’s just his abilities sucking Herkabe’s emotions into himself, but he finds the words spilling from his mouth nonetheless.

“Sir, there’s a bathroom not too far away…” He can’t even complete the sentence before Herkabe’s hand is on his shoulder, directing him out of the auditorium.

Herkabe’s insatiable lust drives him out of the auditorium, pushing him against the nearest wall. Herkabe crowds him against the wall near the bathroom, desperately pushing him against the bricks of the school. He can feel Herkabe’s erection, where they’re joined, most notably, and allows himself eye contact with Herkabe for the first time in many years. His eyes are green, with the slightest hint of brown.

“Malcolm, I’ve wanted this-” His speech is cut off abruptly, as Malcolm’s mouth moves over his own. With Herkabe being the only one in the hall, Malcolm finds it easy to tune his ability in to Herkabe’s emotions. He takes them and amplifies them against Herkabe.

The only sounds from Herkabe are high moans, deep in his throat. Malcolm breaks the kiss to dig his teeth into Herkabe’s pulse. The man shudders and presses his hips further into Malcolm’s. It’s with this movement that Malcolm knows he owns him.

He pushes himself against Herkabe’s aggressive advances, goading him into doing what Malcolm knows he’s been wanting to do to Malcolm since the first time they fucked in the nurses’ room. For the second time ever, Malcolm wants to see how far he can push Herkabe. Lionel lets out a low moan, followed shortly by a growl, when Malcolm shudders in response.

He’s quick to strip Malcolm down to his underwear, pulling his own down as an afterthought.

“Let me taste you…”Herkabe’s voice is nearly soundless, breathless with the exhilaration of finally having Malcolm how he wants him.

“Okay…” Malcolm responds equally breathlessly. He didn’t anticipate this feeling as intensely as he does. He’s eager to see Herkabe with his cock in his mouth. Teenage desires drive him to fuck Herkabe’s mouth until Herkabe is forced to swallow all of his cum.

He is not prepared for how it feels to have someone else’s mouth on him, and whimpers loudly as Herkabe takes him in. The sliding of a rough, wet tongue is almost enough to undo his careful control on his empathy, and he finds himself falling into Herkabe’s emotions a little bit more. He’s not even looking at him. Still, the passion bubbling inside him is more or less a kind of precursor to love, surely a bit behind what Herkabe feels, but he understands how it could take control of a man regardless. His guilt resurfaces again, but he’s determined to hide it.

Herkabe does a particularly difficult maneuver with his tongue, and Malcolm can’t analyze peoples’ emotions and motives anymore. He only finds that he wants more of that heavenly tongue on his body.

“Get up, please…” It’s stuttering and sounds broken to his own ears.

“I want you to-” He can’t even complete the sentence, and when Herkabe’s warm rush of affection fills him, he realizes his embarrassment is entirely his own.

“Can you say it, Malcolm? Can you tell me you want me to fuck you?”

Malcolm’s face goes red, because he’s used to feeling how Herkabe feels about him, but it’s another to hear it.

“Come on. There’s less of a chance to be found if we’re in the bathroom.” Herkabe’s fingers grip his sleeve, and he’s dragged down the hall before Herkabe pulls him toward the stairs.

“That bathroom is right outside the auditorium. I was thinking we could share the bathroom on the second floor.” Herkabe opens the door with little effort, and pushes Malcolm up the stairs ahead of him. He’s forced to continue up the stairs as Herkabe’s heavy breathing follows behind him. He pushes the door to the second floor open, and lo and behold, there’s a bathroom right by the staircase.

“Here we are.” Herkabe mutters before grabbing his wrist and dragging him in to the bathroom.

“What do you want, Malcolm?” Herkabe breathes as he closes the door behind him. His look is absolutely predatory, and Malcolm finds he doesn’t want to dance around Herkabe’s feelings anymore. He’s not sure whether to go for dirty or cheesy though.

“I want you to fuck me. I want you to put me on my hands and knees and fuck me until I come. I want you to make love to me.” He decides to go with honesty, because he finds, after all these years, those feelings he got from Herkabe, that obsessive, possessive love, has not gone away. He wants to torment and antagonize Herkabe like Herkabe did to him, but moreover, he finds that Herkabe’s love for him has given him great affection for the man himself.

“Whatever you want, darling.” Herkabe’s unconditional devotion makes him shudder, and his resolve shakes.

Herkabe pulls his pants off and promptly presses him against one of the bathroom walls. He shudders again as Herkabe takes him in hand. He strokes slowly, languidly, looking for all the world like he’s caught the canary. Malcolm lowers his mouth to Herkabe’s neck, and starts to suck unseemly marks into it. The act of doing it only serves to turn Malcolm on more, and he finds himself shuddering into the tight circle of Herkabe’s fingers.

Herkabe smirks irritatingly beneath his hair, and Malcolm quickly moves to capture his mouth, biting his lips in a searing kiss. He snarls at him, finding no outlet but this, for the aggression in Herkabe’s feelings.

Herkabe’s own teeth begin to gnaw at his lips, and he can’t decide if it would be hot or not to let Herkabe bloody him up. He mewls, pretending helplessness at Herkabe’s force, and Herkabe’s mouth slips to his neck, where he mouths and presses his teeth into the sweet jugular there. Malcolm’s pulse is the grounding point for his lightning, and it isn’t long before Malcolm begs him to take him.

He strips Malcolm enough to fit in between his thighs, tutting as he does so.

“You’re so wet and ready for me.” Malcolm’s pre-cum is leaking onto his stomach, and he can’t imagine he waited this long for anything. He’s really amping up to slip his dick up near Malcolm’s hole before he hears those words.

“Please sir, I need you to fuck me…” His stomach tightens at the words, and he pushes his finger into Malcolm’s mouth before he has the chance to hesitate. He’s met by Malcolm’s confused expression before he says, “You wouldn’t expect me to fuck you dry, would you?”

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.” It’s the last complete thought Malcolm has before Herkabe slips his fingers into his hole. Instantly, he feels himself melt into Herkabe, crying and begging for him to fuck him.

It seems like it’s with reluctance when Herkabe draws back, but Malcolm can see his blown pupils, and can feel his lust when he tells Malcolm to brace himself. Herkabe enters his body roughly, moaning as Malcolm’s body tightens around him.

He can feel Herkabe sink himself into his body, and is resolute to let this continue to be something less serious than what it is. It’s easy as long as Herkabe continues to move as he does, but then his teacher shifts him up, and presses into him more urgently. It hits a spot inside him that Malcolm has no words to describe. It feels so amazing, like nothing else ever has, and Malcolm finds himself begging Herkabe to let the sensation continue.

“Please, sir…”, He begins breathlessly. “Just like that…don’t…stop…”

His moans only seem to egg Herkabe on more, and he finds himself moaning against Herkabe’s throat, and crying into his mouth before he finally comes; white, hot streaks climbing his own chest, Herkabe pressing on to fuck him regardless. Herkabe holds him up against the wall by his legs, fucking him with increasing abandon before Herkabe gives his own breathless shudder, and comes into his body.

Malcolm’s empathy, tuned in to Herkabe’s frequency, tells him that this has only temporarily quelled the man’s lust for him. As for Malcolm himself, he finds that his manipulation hasn’t worked out so well; he can only stay strong for so long before someone else’s emotions overpower him. And he finds that the intensity of Herkabe’s feelings for him have not receded. He mewls quietly again, and tucks his head underneath Herkabe’s chin. Playing entirely to his expectations, Herkabe gathers him to his chest and rubs his hand into his hair. They don’t leave the bathroom for several hours.


End file.
